I walked into a bar by the harbor light, nobody knew my name. Said, “My boy was born tonight, handsome as a movie frame.” They laughed, I raised my glass, and the jukebox sighed my shame. Las luces del malecón dibujan su sombra cansada, como si el tiempo lo mirara desde lejos. I’m just a shadow in the rearview, Cada rostro pasa, y ninguno se detiene. That’s the price of the Observer Blues. She asked the way to the beach, but the ocean was closed tonight. Her eyes were half a promise, half a neon light. I reached my hand through smoke, and found the shape of light. Sus dedos temblaban, jugando con la noche, como si el silencio hablara. My father once said, “I remember dancing at twenty, and not feeling sick. Feels like yesterday, but sixty years slipped quick.” Y el tiempo no avisa, solo pasa, como un tren sin destino. I left a blue scarf on a mountain shrine, out where the wind forgets your name. Didn’t believe in gods, but prayed just the same. Said, “Take her fever, leave her flame.” No creías en nada, pero pediste al viento que no me olvidara. I’m just a camera with no film left, a traveler with nothing to lose. Y el camino no termina, solo cambia de nombre. Still drifting through the Observer Blues. Met her again years older, same eyes, same tune. She laughed, said “Still running?” I said, “Still watching the moon.” We danced out of time, while the trumpet sang the truth. Y al final, solo quedamos nosotros, y el mar respirando azul.
